


shades of blue

by FateReplay



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Mostly Fluff, inspired by up close and personal side quest, its noctis, moments zine, some bits of sad because lets be real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 13:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16787803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FateReplay/pseuds/FateReplay
Summary: Just days after losing his father to Niflheim's attack, Prompto reminds Noctis how it feels to laugh again. If only it didn't involve becoming bait for giant, one-eyed beasts...





	shades of blue

**Author's Note:**

> Promptis again. I wrote this for a travel zine that may or may not be happening anymore. Decided to cover one of my favorite side quests. Happy 2-year anniversary! I love these boys.

The sun is setting; heat waves reflect off the Regalia, casting a moving aura of light onto the asphalt. Ignis and Prompto are sitting up front, and next to him Gladio has his head buried in Henruit—this is routine. Ignis leans back, peering at him knowingly through his glasses. “Should we call it a day, Noct?”

Noctis agrees as if in a haze, while Prompto responds with yet another complaint about their crummy tent and Gladio’s loud snoring. Gladio scoffs and calls Prompto some variation of a wimp, a wuss, a scaredy-cat.

Routine. Noctis nods every time a question seems to be directed at him, but he’s sure the rest of them can tell his mind is elsewhere. Gladio doesn’t nag him about extra training, and Prompto takes over Noctis’ usual vegetable-gathering duties to help Ignis with the cooking. So instead the prince busies himself with the fire, wandering a little past the haven to collect more twigs. Despite everything, despite the war going on inside his head and heart, Duscae is beautiful. It would have seemed impossible, but here he is, surrounded by blue-gray mountains, the majestic Catoblepas resting their heads in the clear water of the lake, trees rising around him like the towers of Insomnia. His heart aches when he thinks of home.

“Hi there, buddy!”

Noctis catches a glimpse of bright yellow against the pastel teals and aquamarines of the landscape before being unforgivingly tackled into the grass, the branches he's so carefully collected scattering in all directions. “Hey!” he protests. _Hey, you’ll get dirt in my hair. Hey, I just washed this pair of Crownsguard fatigues. Hey, you’re distracting me._

_You’re distracting me._

Prompto laughs, and Noctis briefly wonders, as he often does, if the blonde can somehow read his mind.

“Watcha up to?” Prompto asks, once he’s allowed Noctis to climb back to his feet and brush the grass and dirt off his clothes. Noctis just shrugs in response, not sure how to verbalize his emotions, confusing enough as they already are in his head. Ignis would have declared the entire encounter very un-princelike. _Or maybe,_ Noctis thinks, _maybe right now he wouldn’t._ He can’t figure out if he hates the new way everyone is treating him, or if he’s relieved.

“Well,” Prompto goes on, seemingly unbothered by his silence (but Noctis knows better), “Ignis sent me down here to find _Schier tumeric_.” He gives Noctis what’s most likely supposed to be a “can you believe it?” kind of look. When his friend doesn’t appear to share the sentiment, he makes a weird noise, something between a gasp of betrayal and exasperated gibberish.

Noctis raises an eyebrow at him.

“I don’t even know what turmeric _looks_ like!” Prompto says, gesturing dramatically. His eyes flash, and then his lips pull up into a slow smile. “So, I had a better idea.”

“Oh no.”

“We’re going to shoot”—he pauses for effect—“a _Catoblepas._ With my camera,” he appends quickly, grinning when he notices the prince’s alarmed expression.

“What the hell?” Noctis eyes the creatures in the slough warily. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Moments ago he’d been admiring them for their sheer size and beauty. Suddenly they don’t seem so beautiful anymore.

“Of course,” Prompto says, sounding smug. “Have I _ever_ had a bad idea?”

Noctis could recite a long list of many, _many_ bad ideas, from pranks that leave high school principals with magical burn scars on their butts to _several_ almost life-threatening encounters with daemons (which can be blamed on midnight coffee cravings, of all things).

But that’s the thing about Prompto. He knows all this already, and probably has an even longer list ready for recitation if someone ever attempts to challenge his role as the Prince’s Reckless Sidekick™. He’s very proud of the self-proclaimed title, that much Noctis is sure of.

“Fine,” Noctis sighs, and Prompto practically breaks out in a dance right there.

“Okay,” he starts, fingers restlessly twisting the straps of his camera. “First we’re gonna have to collect some mushrooms.”

“Mushrooms?”

“Alstrooms, to be exact. I’ve heard the big guys can’t get enough of ‘em.”

Noctis rolls his eyes, a habit his advisor tried, unsuccessfully, to eradicate in his youth. “So you don’t know what turmeric looks like but you’re _sure_ you’ll be able to find the exact mushrooms preferred by Catoblepas.”

Prompto doesn’t answer, already confidently trudging down the hill. Closer to where the hellish beasts are dunking their impossibly long necks into the everglades.

They spend the next half hour digging through the dirt in search of Alstrooms. Every time Noctis catches sight of one sprouting between the roots of a tree, Prompto exclaims loudly and rushes past him, as if he’s the one who discovered it. Noctis doesn’t mind, really, if it means he can keep his fingernails dirt-free. Prompto obviously harbors none of these concerns. _He_ isn’t Crown Prince of Lucis, after all, heir to the throne, expected to bring peace to this newly war-ridden kingdom. No, Noctis thinks bitterly, Crown Princes don’t go around shoving their fingers in the mud looking for spotted mushrooms.

“Check it out!” Prompto snaps him out of his resentful thoughts, thrusting newly picked Alstrooms against Noctis’ chest. “Do you think we have enough?”

“We're using these to lure the Catoblepas…where exactly?”

The blonde huffs impatiently. “Towards the _camera,_ where else, you bonehead?”

Noctis suppresses a smile at the fact that only Prompto could get away with calling him a bonehead. “And whose job will that be?”

Prompto’s eyes gleam, blue as Eos mornings. “You've gotta be the bait, of course. I'm the one with the amazing camera skills here, _duh_.” He flashes his teeth at his best friend.

This time Noctis returns the grin. _Only_ Prompto could ever use the single living Prince as _bait,_ all in the quest for the perfect photograph.

Still, someone has to be the level-headed one here. And Noctis could never let himself admit how much he lived off his childhood friend’s poorly-planned crusades.

“ _Prompto…_ ” he narrows his eyes.

The daredevil in question chuckles, waving off Noctis’ admonishing tone. “C’mon, Noct! A _huge_ opportunity like this one doesn’t come by often! I can’t miss it. You wouldn’t pass on a big fish, am I right?”

“I… guess…” He can’t argue with that.

Prompto smirks. “See?” And before Noctis can grumble any further he’s headed down towards the slough, muscled shoulders set in a determined vigor he only adopts for important cinematographic endeavors.

He’s always been different. From the moment Prompto first introduced himself, Noctis has appreciated his easygoing attitude. The way he teases him, not afraid to point out his flaws, as if he’s not of royal blood. As if he’s just a person. He appreciates Ignis and Gladio just as much, but he knows they expect greatness. Sometimes, Noctis can’t be sure he can live up to that. Around Prompto, he doesn’t have to.

“This spot feels right,” Prompto muses. He faces Noctis, holding out the mushrooms. “You’ll stand right here.”

“And then what?”

“Then we wait.” He grins. “I’m pretty sure they can smell from a mile away.”

Noctis swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He’s aware of the Catoblepas’ massive presence behind him—though they currently seem blissfully oblivious to the insignificant humans scheming to interrupt their evening meal. “Smell _what_?”

Prompto tilts his head. “Why, the mushrooms, my dear prince. What ever else?” The teeth are back, a mischievous streak of white between his lips, and Noctis knows the creatures will probably be smelling more than just some mushrooms. He wonders if the mushrooms ever had any purpose at all.

He can’t afford to show his fear. They’ve battled far worse, he tells himself, taking his position by the very edge of the gleaming water. _I’ve survived a_ _Marilith. This should be a piece of cake._ He grits his teeth, Alstrooms clenched tight in his fist, knuckles whitening. “This good?”

“Perfect!” Prompto holds his camera up delicately, dark edges grazing the tips of his fingers. Noctis had known those slender hands would be good for something. He hadn’t suspected photography—something that had only been a hobby, back when they were kids—but now he can’t imagine anything different. He’s not sure he would remain sane during the longer road trips without all of Prompto’s random selfie stops.

The ground reverberates beneath their feet. Noctis’ eyes grow large without his consent, and he expects a jab from his companion until he sees Prompto’s expression mirroring his own.

“It’s coming!” Prompto hisses.

Noctis doesn’t dare move a muscle. “Why aren’t you taking it?” He whispers back, after a few seconds pass and Prompto hasn’t budged.

“We only get one shot at this!” Prompto bites his lip in anticipation. “Just a _little bit_ closer!”

Noctis can _see_ the Catoblepas reflected in his friend’s eyes: the colossal gray neck, the long snout, the twin tusks that could rival any king Behemoth and easily impale the both of them within seconds.

He can’t wait any longer. “Just take it!” He orders, remembering to strike a pose at the last moment, something he hopes is cool and stylish, inspired by a show he and Prompto adored in high school. He _really_ hopes he doesn’t look how he feels: scared shitless.

Prompto’s camera flashes right as Noctis senses the Catoblepas’ hot breath rustling the top of his hair. A second later Prompto is already booking it back up the hill, and Noctis doesn’t have to wait for his delayed exclamation—“Get outta there, Noct!”—before he’s following close behind, adrenaline pumping the muscles in his legs, urging him to keep running. His heart is pulsing at the base of his throat, and it isn’t until they almost reach the haven that he forces himself to a stop, collapsing to his knees next to Prompto’s already-sprawled form.

For the next few minutes the two friends just gasp for breath, like the panicked fish Noctis observes every time he fishes. _Doesn’t feel so great from the other end of the fishing rod._

Then Prompto starts laughing. He gazes up at Noctis, still hunched over, chest heaving, sweat running down the sides of his face. Not what Ignis would call graceful.

“Hey,” Noctis retorts, voice still hoarse, “what are you laughing at? We could’ve died!”

Prompto is laughing so hard it requires extreme effort for him to get the next words out. “But we got an _amazing_ shot.”

Noctis scowls, and his obnoxious friend doesn’t know when to quit. “Man, you should have seen your face!” he snickers, wiping the tears forming at the corners of his eyes with his arm. “Oh, I wish I’d gotten that too.”

The prince flushes in embarrassment, but his mouth curls up, just a little. “Should be glad you didn’t, or that camera would be a goner right now.”

Prompto gasps theatrically. “Not my precious camera!”

Noctis exhales, his heartbeat finally slowing, and slumps forward to lie in the soft grass next to his best friend. He turns his eyes toward the darkening sky, catching sight of the Disc of Cauthess in the distance. Beyond it lies Lestallum. A reminder of who he is, and where he has to go.

“Hey.”

The faintness of the voice surprises him, and Noctis turns so he can meet the blonde’s eyes. Prompto blinks back at him, propped up on his elbow, freckles almost glowing orange under the sunset.

“I just wanted to say thanks,” Prompto continues, in the same, hushed tone he only uses when he and Noctis are alone. Noctis thinks of a few nights ago, up on the motel roof. Prompto clears his throat. “I know I said this before but, thanks for putting up with…” He glances down at himself. “All this.”

Noctis retreats back to look at the sky, resting the back of his head in his palms. “You know,” he says, after a beat of silence, “I read about the Catoblepas once, in the royal library.” Prompto shifts beside him, giving him his undivided attention. Noctis can feel his breath against his ear, warm and familiar. “Apparently, legend has it, the great beast once had a second eye that turned all who met its gaze to stone.” He runs his fingers through the foliage at his sides, tugging at stray weeds absent-mindedly. “But, when the solitude grew too much to bear, the Catoblepas swallowed its own eye, hiding it from the world forever. A noble sacrifice to save himself from a life of loneliness.”

He sneaks a glance at his best friend. Prompto’s eyes are wide, the blue closer to the faded color of windswept storm clouds ready to burst. “Noct—”

“I’m the one who should be grateful, Prompto,” Noctis says firmly. “Thanks for being here with me.” And he means it. Collecting mushrooms, running from the Catoblepas, lying here now—Noctis is remembering what it’s like to be a kid again. He’s remembering how _light_ he can feel, just watching the sun sink behind the mountains, listening to the evening creatures beginning to stir.

These past few weeks have been nothing but darkness.

Prompto swallows loudly. (He was usually the first to start bawling during the sad movies, Noctis recalls.) When he speaks, his voice is thick. “Of course. Always.”

Thee prince blinks swiftly so he doesn’t cry—because he’s often been sensitive to his friend’s tears—and offers Prompto an indebted smile.

“Oi, you two.”

Gladio has somehow materialized above them, frowning, his bare chest coated in sweat. “Done cloud-watching? Iggy’s calling for dinner.”

“We weren’t cloud-watching,” Noctis responds, climbing to his feet and dusting himself off. He extends a hand to Prompto, who takes it.

“Yeah,” Prompto adds, a little defensively. “We were—”

“Completing an important mission.” Noctis ignores the strange look Gladio is giving him. “Much more eventful than your training, I’m guessing.”

Gladio reaches over to land a playful punch in his shoulder as they make their way to the haven. “Don’t make me regret giving you the day off, you royal pain-in-the-ass.”

“Oh, _I’m_ the pain in the ass? That’s not how Ignis feels.”

“I’ve said nothing of the sort,” Ignis supplies from behind his makeshift kitchen, now within earshot of the conversation.

“You _imply_ it,” says Prompto, and that gets him a punch from Gladio as well, harder judging by his grimace.

“No fighting at the table,” Ignis scolds, and no one wants to tell him that there isn’t an actual table anywhere in the vicinity. They drop into their waiting seats, and Ignis passes around today’s dish, some kind of soup that smells incredible. Noctis dives in straight away, exhausted and hungry from the day’s adventures.

Thankfully, Ignis makes no comment about Noctis and Prompto’s dirt-stained clothes, though he does remind Gladio to put a shirt on (which he does so grudgingly, muttering something about “real men”). They eat in comfortable silence, and the sky dissolves from orange to gray before settling into a calming indigo.

Prompto finds Noctis again later, double-checking the tent and rolling out sleeping bags for the night. Outside, Ignis and Gladio are washing the dishes, chatting quietly.

“Noct?”

“Hmm?” Noctis straightens up to admire his handiwork, nodding appreciatively at the perfectly-aligned sleeping bags.

“I just wanted to say, I mean,” Prompto scratches the back of his neck. Cautious. Reluctant. “I know you’re not always great with words, so I wanted to let you know… I’m sorry about your dad.”

Noctis tries to ignore the lump in his throat. “What do you mean, not so great with words?” He chuckles when Prompto’s ears turn an anxious shade of red. “I’m kidding. Thanks. You can let Ignis and Gladio know I’m doing fine.”

The blonde gapes at him, mouth falling open. “You knew?”

“I figured as much. They’re not always the best in the ‘cheering up’ department. They know that’s your job.”

Prompto smiles, and it’s so wide and genuine that Noctis forgets about the lump. “Did it work?”

“Maybe.” Noctis grins. “But if you ever ask me to be bait for you again, I’m tying you up and feeding you to the sabertusks.”

“Sounds fair,” says Prompto, and Noctis can’t help but laugh at his resigned acceptance. And then Ignis and Gladio are there, done eavesdropping, joining them in this intimate moment. Gladio slings an arm around Noctis’ neck, flooding the small tent with loud, boisterous guffaws. Even Ignis offers a refined chuckle.

He would sacrifice anything, he decides, so long as he can keep coming back to the sound of their familiar laughter. He meets their gazes in the semi-dark, and their eyes burn with the same resolve. Right now, huddled atop a faded marshland somewhere between the past and the horizon, Noctis knows they would do the same.

He feels lighter than air.


End file.
